Remembering the Lion
by Echo the Insane
Summary: Once, a boy saw a lion in the zoo. This is the story of Jack and the Lion who would change his life. Slight tie in with Remembering the Wardrobe, but only just.


Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia. Nope. Not even a grain of sand.

**Remembering the Lion**

When Jack was a very small boy, he saw a lion in a zoo. He was on a class holiday, with all his classmates and school teacher. The other kids saw an old, tired lion with sad eyes and drooping whiskers. Jack saw an imprisoned King, who had too long been away from his country. He cried himself to sleep that night thinking about the exiled King trapped in a too small cage of iron.

He didn't think about that lion for many years. He remembered the lion one day when he was on holiday with his brother and his brother's family. They were out for the day and one of the children wanted to visit a zoo. Jack found himself in the same zoo he'd been too as a child, and in the same small, now rusty, cage was a lion. Not his lion, but the sadness in the lion's eyes reminded him of his lion. He felt like crying for the lion, and perhaps the lion felt this, for his lifted his tired head and stood as straight as he could. He gave Jack a stern, regal look, and for a moment, Jack saw the lion's soul.

He told his brother later that day that he finally believed in God.

Jack wrote books for a living. Most of them were very adult and very informative, but not much fun. One day, he decided he would write a children's novel. So with his wife's support, Jack wrote the novel. Others followed. He was chided and pitied by his peers, for they felt he'd made a fool of himself. Jack felt none of this.

One day, some years later, Jack's wife fell ill. Too soon after, she was gone. Jack was broken hearted, for his wife was the best source of happiness in his life. He grieved long and deeply and soon fell ill himself. He took to wandering his house aimlessly and once again, forgot his lion.

He saw no one. He turned his brother and his brother's family away and told them he wished some time alone. He often sat in his writing chair and stared at the first editions of his children's novel, which he had always wished the revise. He wept for his wife and he wept for his books, yet he never allowed himself to think of his lion.

So one day, the Lion came to him. He was sitting in his chair, feeling sad and lonely; though he'd still not call his family to him. A Voice from behind him called him name. The Voice he'd only heard in his head before. He turned around and stared in wonder, for the Lion from his childhood was there. The Lion was not ill and shabby, was not thin and sad eyed, but large (larger than any lion he'd ever seen) and bright and healthy. Even so, he was sure this was the same Lion. He said the Lion's name - for he knew it as well as his own - and blinked. The Lion was gone, but Jack had no doubt he had been there. There were very large paw prints on his unswept wooden floor.

"Wait!" he called, launching out of his chair and after the Lion. He hurried into the hall, huffing breaths as he looked up and down it. The left end of the hall lead to his front door, the right to a spare room that hadn't been used for some years. The door to the spare room was open just a crack and he ran to it as quick as his aged body would let him. Jack went in and found a curious thing - a wardrobe. It had not been there before; the room had been completely empty only yesterday. But most remarkably, it was just like the wardrobe from his stories! Jack's heart raced and he crept to it, following the paw prints in the dust on the floor. They lead to the wardrobe door, which was ajar. Jack opened it all the way and looked inside, seeing only old fur coats like the ones his aunts used to wear. He licked his dry lips and parted the coats, climbing into the wardrobe, panting softly as he pushed the coats around him. He stumbled on, always reaching for the back and never finding it. The soft fur soon got thicker and more prickly, and with shock, he realized he was clutching a group of branches and pine needles.

He wept.

Jack stepped out of the wardrobe and into a wood. He was a young boy again, in the same clothes as the day he'd seen his lion. He was in a clearing, where a single lamppost shed light on a circle of ground. It was snowing; a light, wonderful snow unlike any he'd ever seen. The sky was dark and the moon was half-full, with winter clouds floating over it. Jack stumbled forward, his shoes sticking in the snow, tripping over hidden roots and rocks.

Standing by the lamppost were two beings. One was the Lion, his head up with pride and eyes ever so gentle. The other was a girl of his own age, wearing school clothes, her hair curled in a style popular in his youth, and a kerchief clutched in her gloved hand.

"Jack!" she called and at once he knew her. He ran to his wife and hugged her, kissing her cheeks and the corners of her eyes, weeping happily with her. The Lion nudged his back affectionately and he hugged the Lion too, sobbing with relief.

"Welcome home old chap!" said a voice. Jack looked over the Lion's shoulder and grinned, for four very dear friends stood nearby. Peter Pevensie was smiling, Edmund nodded a greeting, young Lucy was waving enthusiastically, and Susan was weeping; though they were happy tears. He was half-surprised to see Susan there, but embraced her when she came to him. He later learned the story of her redemption, but that is a tale for another time. Together with the children, his beloved wife (for love like theirs does not die with the body, nor change with aging, or de-aging), and the Lion, Jack was once again happy.

"Welcome home," said the Lion.

The wardrobe door closed in the distance, unnoticed.

---

A/N: My DSL modem was hit by lightning a week or so ago. I also cracked a rib. So, while suffering without the Internet to distract me, I came up with this little gem. For those who don't know, C. S. Lewis was called Jack by those who knew him, so you can see who the hero of the tale is. And if you are wondering about Susan's tale of redemption, it can be read in "_Remembering the Wardrobe_", which I tied in with the title of this piece. They are connected only in my mind, for I had her tale in my head when I wrote the passage about her. While "RtW" isn't an essential read, if you're curious, do give it a shot. And yes, C. S. Lewis was given some grief over writing the Narnia books. Others criticized him greatly for wanting to write a children's tale, but he did not waver. This is just one version of how Jack got home to Narnia, where I'm sure he's dwelling now.

A/N 2: No beta. I'm too lazy to dig around and ask someone. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me about any mistakes I might be making. Thanks!


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